


He Had a Speech Prepared

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: Fluff, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Matt mans up and asks his best friend to marry him, Miscommunication, Nebulous Post-Soule Timeline, Wedding Rings, instead of having a one-night stand with some random woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-25 04:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: “This is a ring,” Foggy says, as if that might make the gold band’s presence — pinched between Matt’s thumb and index finger, held out like an offering — any less baffling.---Matt decides to make a surprise proposal. Maybe it's a little bit... Too surprising. Foggy's not sure how to react.





	He Had a Speech Prepared

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hehearse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hehearse/gifts).

> Hope you like it!
> 
> This is for the Exchange prompt: "Golden" and the DD Bingo prompt: "Miscommunication"

“This is a ring,” Foggy says, as if that might make the gold band’s presence — pinched between Matt’s thumb and index finger, held out like an offering — any less baffling.

Matt huffs out an aggravated sigh.

“I know it’s a ring, Fogs, I’m holding it.”

“Ok.” After an uncomfortable pause where Matt makes no move to explain himself, Foggy clears his throat. “And... Why are you showing it to me?”

The strained expression on Matt’s face is a very familiar one. It’s his ‘my brilliant plan is not going the way I imagined it would and I’m very grumpy about it’ face. Some of Foggy’s favorite memories contain that expression, because he’s best friends with the most brilliant numbskull on the face of the planet. Possibly multiple planets, but he hasn’t had a chance to ask the Avengers who the dumbest alien they’ve ever met is.

“You know,” Matt replies huffily, “normally when a person offers a ring to another person, it’s with the intention of proposing marriage. It’s really not that difficult a concept.”

Foggy’s brain takes a good twenty seconds to process that. The thing is... He’s known Matt a long time. Which means he knows it’s not completely out of the question that Matt accidentally skipped ten steps in his likely-slipshod plan to get to this particular moment. But they also live in a world where mind control and memory wiping and dimension hopping are real actual things and not goofy sci-fi plot lines. This happening out of left field is just a little too convenient, and plays a little too well into the kind of daydreams Foggy likes to tell himself he’s too old and too resigned to the state of things to indulge. He crosses his arms and uses it as a chance to subtly pinch himself. Nope, nothing. Nonetheless, that doesn’t rule out shapeshifters, mind control, demons, or simply another of Matt’s manic states, so he decides to tread cautiously.

“You’re trying to propose,” he confirms. “To me?”

He half expects Matt to laugh, to give him a good hearty slap on the back and tell him no, of course not, it’s for his latest beau and he wants Foggy to look it over and approve it. Which is weird because it’s definitely a man-sized ring, a simple gold band free of embellishments. And, well. For all that it’s been shined within an inch of its life, it looks quite old.

“Yes, to you,” Matt scoffs — as though the answer is obvious. “Who else?”

Foggy is a good best friend, so he very tactfully doesn’t mention Matt’s ex-wife and long line of gorgeous, competent ex-girlfriends, any of which he might be liable to take up with again, excepting the ones who are dead.

“Matt,” he says instead, very gently, just in case there’s some sort of magic-induced delusion he’s about to shatter. “We’re not even dating.”

Matt’s mouth goes tight, and his face washes as red as his hair.

“I know that,” he insists stubbornly.

Foggy’s not sure if the blush is from embarrassment over _not _actually knowing they weren’t dating or embarrassment over being confronted with the sheer, heedless stupidity of his implied proposal.

“Do you? Because in that case I’m... Well, frankly, a little concerned.”

“It’s a yes or no question, Foggy,” Matt insists, and his scowl has gone from amusingly put-upon to genuinely hurt and aggravated.

Foggy throws his hands up in the air.

“Which you haven’t even asked me! I’m just saying, your track record with sudden proposals isn’t great, and this is all a total bolt from the blue. Are you going through something? Or is this part of, I don’t know, some sort of Daredevil thing? Do we need to pretend to be married for some reason? Because if we do you could just tell me, I’m a much better actor than you are—”

“It’s not a ruse!” Matt snaps, sounding scandalized. “I just. I’m tired of... I want us to be together. I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

Ah. That’s what this is. Foggy sighs, then tries to school his features into a fond, comforting smile, because he knows Matt will be able to hear it in his voice.

“I know we’ve had some rough patches, Matty, but I’m not going to leave. You don’t have to tie me down in holy matrimony — I’m sticking with you, I promise. Couldn’t stop if I tried.”

Matt’s shoulders sag at those words, and he finally stops holding out the ring. Instead, he brings both hands down and fiddles with it between them like an upset child, ducking his head.

“That’s not how I meant it to come across. It’s just that...” Matt closes one hand around the ring and rubs the other over his mouth, likely gathering his words into a cohesive argument. “Before, I was more afraid of what admitting my feelings would do to our friendship. But now? After... After almost losing you, after almost dying myself... Now the thought of never getting the chance to tell you scares me more. It’s not about trying to keep you from leaving. It’s not... I’m not in a bad place right now. This isn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision, and I won’t take it back later. I genuinely... I’m in love with you, Fogs. I have been for a long time.”

Foggy hasn’t always wanted to hear those words — or, perhaps, hasn’t always _known _he wanted to hear them — but he’s wanted it long enough that they give him pause. Make him hesitate. His life has only very rarely gone this smoothly, and Matt’s never has. It’s too suspicious. And Foggy’s too old to risk getting his heart broken like that, when it turns out this is... Something. A coma dream. A Skrull. Freaking... Mephisto or somebody trying to eat his soul. Matt seems to sense the hesitation, puzzles out the reason like he always does. He sighs, offers a put-upon smile.

“I’m not being mind-controlled.”

“No offense, Matt, but that sounds like what someone being mind-controlled would say,” replies Foggy.

“To what point and purpose, though? Aren’t you being just...” Matt holds the thumb and index finger of his free hand about a centimeter apart. “A tad bit paranoid?”

But this is not ground Foggy is willing to cede. He’s not paranoid, he’s just reasonably suspect given the state of the world when one lives in Matt Murdock’s orbit.

“Think about how your entire life has gone, everything from the toxic waste that gave you literal superpowers to the cult of evil ninjas you fight who worship a demon, and ask me that question again,” he insists, hands on his hips.

Matt shakes his head.

“If I were being mind-controlled I probably would have gone out and bought a new ring,” he says reasonably. “Not used my dad’s.”

Foggy’s heart just about stops. He’d considered that the ring looked old, yes, but not what that might mean. Jack Murdock’s ring? One of the few, very, very few, physical possessions Matt still has to remember his father with? And he’s— Foggy’s brain can’t even compute what’s happening. He wants very desperately to do something but he has no idea what, whether it’s to kiss Matt full on the mouth or burst into tears or flee the premises. As it happens, Foggy does none of these things. Just stands there and tries in vain to string together a coherent sentence explaining how crazy this all is.

“Your _dad’s ring_, Matt!” he cries, clutching his hands in his hair. “I can’t, you can’t just—”

“I’ll go through the entire magic-science gauntlet if you really want me to — Strange, Pym, Banner, Xavier, hell I’ll even let Danny probe my chi or whatever it is he does — but I promise you that I’m in my right mind.” Matt shrugs sheepishly, tilting his face away. “And that I’ve been planning to give you this ring since our last year of law school.”

At first Foggy laughs because he thinks it’s a joke, or at least an exaggeration, but when Matt’s ears go pink and his pout makes a return appearance, he realizes... Well. Well, ok, then.

“What the hell, Matt,” Foggy says, still feeling baffled but also unreasonably touched. “That was _twenty years ago_. Same-sex marriage wasn’t even _legal _back then.”

Matt shrugs.

“Just wanted to be prepared, I guess.”

“And yet you somehow completely failed to mention, at any point in the last two decades, that you were in love with me?” presses Foggy. “Not even when I was getting married? Or when _you _were getting married?”

“I _told you_,” Matt complains. “I was afraid. It was better to have you as my best friend than to risk you leaving, or getting hurt.”

Which is so— completely typical, but also absolutely ridiculous.

“And yet I have both left and gotten hurt anyway. But I’ve come back and I’ve healed. You can’t honestly tell me you think being your best friend and business partner is less dangerous than dating you. Or that it hasn’t been just as much emotional labor with just as much intimacy. But it’s always been platonic, you’re not a shy person, Matt, you always go after what you want.”

“_You’re _what I want!” Matt insists in a frustrated tone.

He sounds so certain of it. Foggy’s never been less certain of anything in his life. It just doesn’t make sense.

“You say that, but what, I mean... What do you even...? I know your type, Matt. I have decades of experience with your type. And I’m not...”

“Not what?” Matt asks with a stubborn set to his jaw.

“Not a woman, for starters!” Foggy exclaims, because someone has to say it. “And I’m not skinny or, or beautiful, ok, and you know that even if you can’t see me. You’ve always known that, so why... Why...?”

Foggy can’t keep his voice from breaking a little, and it’s so— stupid, so ridiculous because he’s known this, he’s always known this. Matt’s the handsome hero, always has been. And Foggy’s no loser, but he’s always been the hyper-competent sidekick. The best friend. He’s just not love interest material, not for somebody like Matt. That category is reserved for supermodel-esque assassins, and glamorous high-society women, and confident, beautiful, career-driven gals. Maybe Foggy’s reliable and whip-smart, but he’s not any of those things that seem to draw Matt in without fail. And he’s always known that, since before he even knew he kind of wanted Matt to be drawn to him too. So there’s no reason it should be causing such a raw ache in his chest, or making his vision blur with tears. He’s a grown man, only a handful of years away from fifty, and he’s already known all of this for— half his life.

“Foggy, I...”

And Foggy waits. He does. But there’s no explanation, only silence, and he just, he can’t...

“Why, Matt?” he asks again, urgently. “At least tell me why because I’m trying my hardest to— It just doesn’t make sense, I’m not... I’ve never been what you wanted. Why now? Why are you...?”

He has to stop. To swallow the lump in his throat and blink his eyes hard. Not that stopping the tears from falling keeps Foggy’s idiot best friend from sensing they’re there. Or from welling up in sympathy; Matt’s lip wobbles tellingly.

“Please don’t— please don’t cry, Foggy,” he implores. “I know it’s difficult but you can’t compare yourself to the people I’ve loved before. My feelings for them were real— are real, but so is what I feel for you.”

“Then explain it to me, Matt, please.”

Matt sighs, closes his eyes and starts fidgeting with the gold ring again. It’s only then that Foggy really, truly realizes that Matt’s glasses are off. It’s not totally unusual — Matt takes his glasses off fairly often when it’s just the two of them. But... Not usually when he’s preparing to have a conversation as emotionally fraught as this one. And yet, he makes no move to reach for them where they’re tucked into his breast pocket. Just takes two deep lungfuls of air and opens his eyes again, essentially giving Foggy’s left shoulder a very heartfelt and determined look.

“You are what I want,” Matt repeats, the same sentiment as before but this time as calm and sure as if he’s laying out the perfect closing statement — like there’s no choice but to believe him, because he’s right and that’s that. “You have been for a long time. I love your brilliant mind — your head for precedent, your gift for research, your skill as a writer. I love that you’re kind and brave and that you’ve stuck with me for so many years, even when it was dangerous, even when it hurt you. I love that you try to pull me back from the edge. I love your terrible sense of humor and the sound of your laughter. I love your heartbeat. I love that you’re unapologetic about what you enjoy, even when it’s weapons-grade cheese or ugly ties. I love you when you make me happy and I love you when you piss me off.”

And now, of course, Foggy’s halfway to crying for another reason entirely. Matt’s just... Too much. Too much, in the best way possible.

It’s just there’s still one thing, still... Just one little thing that...

“But that doesn’t...” Foggy argues weakly, his ridiculous heart still melting. “You’re still not, you know, you don’t really think of me as... You’re not...”

He can’t bring himself to say it. It feels... Foolish. Juvenile. What is he even supposed to say? You don’t think I’m hot? They’re forty-five, Foggy’s too old to be self-conscious about not being sexy. But he is.

Matt scoffs.

“What?” he asks. “Not attracted to you? Physically? Well guess what, buddy, I’ve been having sex dreams about you since college so don’t even try to say that I don’t want you like that. I know—” Here Matt falters, looks ashamed. “I know I haven’t always been kind. I’ve said things I shouldn’t have about your weight, and I know they’ve hurt you. I know that might make it hard to believe me now. But I want you, Foggy, in every way it’s possible to want someone. I love your heart and your mind, but I love your body too. The way you smell and sound and feel? Those are all beautiful to me. There’s nothing and no one that could ever replace you. And that’s why I... I’ve hidden it so long. Because I didn’t want to risk driving you away like everyone else. You of all people know my romantic history is a long list of catastrophes — and I couldn’t lose you to that. I just couldn’t.”

And it’s so earnest and heart-wrenching and _Matt _that Foggy’s last twinge of doubt evaporates. He can’t help himself. He reaches out a hand, strokes Matt’s cheek with his fingertips.

“Kind of a blemish on your record, isn’t it, Man Without Fear?” he murmurs.

“Well, I’m trying to fix that now. I— I just, I love you Foggy. Will you marry me?”

“God, Matty, all those fancy supersenses and you never figured it out? I’m in love with you too, you dope.”

Matt laughs wetly, and the sound is a beautiful mosaic of relief and joy.

“That a yes, counselor?”

“It’s a yes,” Foggy confirms.

When Matt slips the ring, oh so gently, onto his finger, Foggy’s heart skips a beat. He knows Matt hears it because his smile, which had been tender and gorgeous, turns a little goofy and a lot smug. There’s nobody in the world that could fake that expression. And, Foggy knows, even his own imagination with decades of Matt to pull from couldn’t quite capture something like this. Still, it’s... It’s a little hard to believe. So. Maybe he needs a little evidence. You know, for science. Foggy leans in for a kiss, something soft and cautious. It doesn’t quite go to plan because, of course, Matt is not a soft and cautious man, and he only knows how to kiss like a heartthrob who’s leapt straight off the silver screen. It’s perfect, obviously.

But Foggy is not the young, spry sex fiend he once was. Or so he tells himself, at least. The truth is that he’s got more than a handful of interesting ideas to make use of Matt’s ridiculous flexibility and perpetual desire to show off percolating in his brain at this very moment — but more than any of them, right now he just wants to enjoy being close to Matt. So he kisses his eager and ridiculous partner over to the bed, slows him down every time he tries to speed things up. Although Foggy doesn’t know for certain how many hours of sleep Matt’s been getting lately, it’s safe to say that number is ‘not enough’ — so he’s confident that if he can get Matt onto the sheets, Matt’s sleep deprivation will do the rest. In actuality, Matt lasts longer than Foggy expects before he starts yawning — but his exhaustion does in fact win out in the end. He drops off in the middle of trying to unbutton Foggy’s shirt. Foggy chuckles quietly to himself and gathers Matt closer.

Matt ‘sleeps’ ramrod straight when he’s faking it or in the throes of insomnia. He sleeps curled up in a painfully tight little ball, knees tucked to his chin, most other times, and wakes at the drop of a pin. But right now, he’s out like a light, snoring quietly with his ear pressed right over Foggy’s heart and clinging to him like a vine. It’s sweet. And honestly, Matt’s weight pinning him down is a comforting sensation.

Foggy ends up falling asleep too.

Still, he tends to get a reasonable amount of rest per night, so he wakes up first and quietly watches the sunlight coming through the windows dance across Matt’s fiery hair. It’s another ten minutes or so until Matt starts to stir — he shifts, gives a soft little sigh, and almost immediately begins

running sleep-clumsy fingers over and over where the warm gold of the wedding band meets the skin of Foggy’s finger.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Foggy murmurs teasingly.

“Forgot how sneaky you are,” says Matt, his voice muffled by Foggy’s chest.

“Gotta be. Daredevil’s a wily foe, after all.”

“Not a foe,” insists Matt. “A fiancé.”

Fiancé. It sounds... Nice. And also significant. More weight to it than boyfriend or partner. There’s an expectation to it. And even if Matt hasn’t always followed through on his commitments, Foggy has a warm, solid feeling that he will for this one. The amount of faith Foggy’s putting into this is legitimately terrifying but... It’s Matt. What else can he do, really?

“Taking this seriously, are you?” Foggy asks to cover up the lump of tangled emotions clogging his throat.

“Yes. I will do every husband thing,” promises Matt nonsensically, inching his way up Foggy’s body to smush his face into Foggy’s pulse point like a big weirdo. “All the things.”

“Oh, will you?”

And. Ok. Foggy’s tone might be extremely fond and indulgent but he would defy anyone else to withstand Matt’s drowsy cuteness.

“Yeah. Even all that fancy shit,” Matt adds, very insistent for a man who’s still three-quarters-asleep. “Like bougie rich people do. Golden anniversaries. ‘Cause I love you.”

Foggy can’t help but laugh. They’re well on their way to becoming bougie rich people themselves, given the notoriety of some of their erstwhile clientele and Matt’s supersense-guided eating habits. Foggy’s heart still skips a beat at the ‘I love you’ though. The words themselves aren’t necessarily new, but the context is, and he can’t control the way it affects him.

“Golden anniversary’s not until fifty years,” he points out, stroking a hand through Matt’s soft but unruly bedhead. “Gonna stick with me that long, Murdock?”

“Long as I can,” Matt mumbles back as he buries his face deeper against Foggy’s throat. “Living to ninety-five might be optimistic.”

Foggy smiles.

“Nah. I’ll make sure you get there.”


End file.
